


Sugar Dancing (on your tongue)

by ondoyant



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, a lot of back and forth, honestly this is just me finally writing fic for my first slash pop ship, oldschool popslash tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-05 22:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ondoyant/pseuds/ondoyant
Summary: JC and Justin have a thing. They don't speak about it.Until they do.Title from Once by Two Door Cinema Club.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon any typos. I wrote this between midnight and 3am. I am very tired. I will edit my dumb typos soon.

The first time he meets Justin, Justin is everything he is not. Justin is loud and confident, and he’s in your face. He is overflowing with self-assured confidence and charm that is drawing everybody to him, even though he’s just a kid. Right now, he feels most content in the corner, talking with Tony, who for the most part has always been pretty cool. He’s telling Josh (it’s still kind of weird hearing _ JC _) about how he’s gotten better at the guitar over their last break and he really wants to do like, this bluesy style thing with his music. “His music,” sounds so grown up. They’re two of the older ones around, but he doesn’t have near the professional aspirations some of these people have. He’s been on the show for two years, Tony at his side thank god, and meeting the new cast after so recently saying goodbye to the ones who didn’t renew their contracts seems kind of weird. The new people seem nice though, if young. 

Justin is one of those people. He’s all over the place, singing and doing little dance moves that make the younger girls take interest in him. He seems comfortable with them, at this meet-and-greet for the new cast, acting like he’s known everybody for years. Josh-- JC-- had quietly said hello to his new castmates and made small talk about where they were all from. Britney seemed sweet, full of southern charm, but a little bit shy. He looked at her now, eyes focused on Justin, and wondered if there’d be a kid showmance there. He knew it was common to hook up with castmates; he’d made out with Keri a handful of times, and he’s pretty sure Tony got a handjob from Rhona. He kind of thinks they might be dating now, but he’s not sure. Their families hung out over their season break, so that seems like it’s a thing now. His eyes seek out Rhona from across the room, and he raises a glass to her. She’s all confidence and definitely beautiful, and the new girls have flocked to her like she’s a goddess full of wisdom. Honestly? She probably is. JC thinks Rhona is going to go far. 

He’s also pretty sure Tony and Keri have been talking on the phone a lot over break, so maybe that’s a thing, too? It’s never weird between him and Keri, and they’ve mostly just been friends who occasionally touch tongues, but that’s alright with him. He’s got a lot in his head right now, about sexuality and stuff, and this really isn’t the place to talk about it. Maybe later, when it’s just him and Tony, but for right now he’s going to keep quiet about his friend Mark who he kind of, sort of kissed over break. 

Nikki seemed very cool, and had talked to him about literature and how she was currently obsessed with On the Road. Something he could personally get behind, so at least they’d have conversation to fall back on if it ever got awkwardly quiet on set. Christina was quiet and seemed shy, but he had heard part of her audition tape and knew she could belt them all out of the water. She was so tiny, and it made him feel protective. He was far away from his siblings and didn’t have anybody to look out for, and he felt like Christina might need it. Something told him she’d been bullied, probably for being too damn good. 

Tony was the one he had meshed with from first working together two years ago though, and so their conversation flowed freely. They had caught up about what went down over break and trying to suss out the new kids, but the conversation drifted to music like it often did. He was currently really into some good alt stuff, and Tony was rattling off about 60’s doowop like he had lived through the era. 

He doesn’t know why Justin eventually saddles up to him as the night goes on, all of them nursing punch from their cups and talking over the music. But he does, eyes bright and nose too big for his face. He takes to JC almost instantly, and everybody starts calling Justin his shadow. Justin takes it in stride and somehow seems a couple of years older than he actually is, and ends up hanging out with him and Tony for most of the night. 

It continues on, too. Two months later when Tony and Keri are officially ‘on’ and no longer beating around the bush, and Rhona and Keri are weirdly BFFS (he really, really does not understand women), he finds himself spending a lot of time with Justin and, by default, Ryan. If he were back at home he would think it kind of strange that one of his best friends is going on thirteen, but Justin really does seem a lot older than he is. Ryan is all over the place, but Justin is a strong dancer and has a great voice. Puberty is not as mean to Justin as it had been to JC, and he is a little bit jealous over it. He sometimes sees Justin and Britney holding hands, but Justin ditches her so much to hang out with JC that it doesn’t seem like much of a _ thing _.

It’s late September when a guy JC and Tony know gets them booze (two bottles of whipped cream vodka, which are kind of small for the $100 they gave him, but he told Tony he charged a “service fee” and that beggars can’t be choosers, so.). He’s with Nikki, Keri and Tony and has taken two shots before he finally settles down and isn’t as antsy. He’s drank once before at a friend’s house, but he’s never had hard liquor and it’s warming him up in a way that beer didn’t. Nikki expertly knows how to mix the vodka with orange soda, and they’re all drinking creamsicles in JC and Tony’s apartment living room with a game of Monopoly between them. There’s The Lemonheads coming from their stereo and JC knows that Radiohead is up next-- because he made the mixtape himself, just for this night. Justin had helped him, but he kept insisting the mix needed more Duran Duran. He’s kind of weird. 

He wishes Justin were here now, even though he’s too young to drink. Tony has been pretty busy with Keri lately, but he’s insisted that Nikki is into JC and maybe he can get to second base if he’s nice enough to her. It sounds a bit sketchy to him, but such is life. 

When things delve into truth or dare they are all at least four drinks in and pretty buzzed, and he’s pretty sure Nikki is actually drunk. Keri seems to be holding her liquor well, and JC eyes her suspiciously. Maybe she’s more experienced than all of them.

When it’s his turn, he picks truth. Last round when he chose dare he had ended up flashing his nipples to their elderly neighbor, and he’s pretty sure he’s never going to get fresh baked brownies from her again. He’s trying not to be bitter about it. 

He’s still pretty bitter about it. 

“What’s the deal with Justin?” is the gloriously vague question that Nikki shoots his way. 

He had been thinking about the brownies and has to ask her to come again. 

“Come again?” he manages to say out loud, followed by a sip of his creamsicle. He doesn’t even taste the vodka anymore. 

“I said,” Nikki begins, really dragging out the second word, “what’s the deal with Justin?”

JC furrows his brows, unsure of what she means. 

“What do you mean?” he asks. He is so eloquent. He is the best drunk to ever have drank. He’s sure of it. 

“Like, what’s the deal? Everybody says him and Brit are together, but he seems to really have eyes for you. It’s weird.” Her nose kind of wrinkles up like the idea of a guy being into another guy is weird. He understands, because even though Kurt Cobain approves of gay people, not everybody is as open minded. He still feels cement in his stomach for a moment, before he wills it away. 

Tony is looking at him curiously now, and Keri has her head down and is picking at the fuzzy hem on her socks as though she’s too afraid to meet his eyes. Greaaat. 

“I uh--” he begins, but doesn’t know where to go. He’s pretty sure Justin is putting the moves on Britney, they’ve been seen holding hands and Christina said she’s seen them kiss. 

“I definitely do not think he like, has a crush on me or something.”

“He follows you around like a lost puppy,” Nikki pushes on, and JC feels himself getting irritated by this line of questioning.

Justin is a kid. This is ridiculous. So he says so. 

“This is ridiculous. He’s everybody’s favorite, and I just happen to be his.” He realizes how weird it sounds as soon as it comes out, even if it might be true. He kind of hopes it is. Justin is like, easily his second best friend on the show. 

“He’s just like, looking for somebody older to look up to because I’ve got more experience on the show. He likes learning about the behind the scenes stuff, and he wants to learn some piano. He’s a nice kid,” he elaborates and even though he wants to stop talking, he doesn’t. “I just think we sort of vibe well. He’s talked about wanting to do some more skits together if they’ll let us, and his mom wants to meet my mom.” 

He wants to groan at himself but luckily Tony steps in and pivots, cheeks flushed red from the alcohol and totally JC’s favorite friend ever. He somehow manages to get the girls talking about what they’ll all be doing for Spring Break (it’s big in Florida and they’re already making plans since they’re older now) and JC just sort of lets himself fall quiet. Even if Nikki wanted to make out, he doesn’t really want to now. She’s pretty enough, and definitely nice enough, but it feels forced now and it all just rubbed him the wrong way. 

When the girls leave Tony goes with them to walk them across the complex to their apartment (Nikki’s mom is in town but she’s out for the night, so they don’t even need to sneak in). It’s almost midnight but he goes to his bedroom and sits on his bed, quietly taking a minute to stare at his lava lamp. It’s green and kind of awesome to watch when inebriated, he’s discovered. He grabs for his phone and stretches the cord out after he dials a familiar number. He knows Lynn is going to be pissed if it wakes her up, so he hopes that he got the right number and didn’t call the main phone, and called the line in Justin’s bedroom. JC knows that Justin and Ryan stay up late playing video games, so he hopes he catches him. 

Justin answers on the third ring, but JC doesn’t hear any noise in the back except music he can’t make out. 

“Hi,” he says after he realizes he’s been quiet for a beat too long. 

“JC?” Justin asks, and JC can hear him shifting around. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing, nothing. I’m sorry to call, actually, I know it’s late--” 

“It’s fine. Are you.. Are you drunk? Right now?” Justin asks him, voice almost incredulous. “You dick, you didn’t invite me?” 

JC laughs, and he likes that Justin knows. “A little bit. You can’t, you’re not old enough.”  
  
“According to the United States Legislative Branch,” he says, so serious and obviously All Capitalized, “you aren't, either. So really, you’re out of luck on that one, buddy.”

“Yes, but I… I am using it as a form of artistic expression. Like Jim Morrison,” he reasons, or at least tries to. 

“Pretty sure that guy died, dude,” Justin shoots back, and JC groans. 

Tony pokes his head in, a curious expression on his face. 

_ Justin _, he mouths to him, and Tony gives him a look that makes JC wish he hadn’t said anything at all. Not after tonight. 

“JC?” Justin asks again, and he returns his attention back to the call as Tony ducks out to his bedroom. 

“I’m here, I’m here. Sorry, Tony just got back from walking Keri and Nikki home.”

“Oh? Did you guys have fun?” Justin asks him, voice cautiously curious. JC tries not to read into it. Fucking Nikki, he swears. 

“I came in dead last at Monopoly, but that’s not new. I am like, guaranteed to lose at games.” He laughs at himself a little, and Justin joins in. 

“Nah, you’re great at Life. Smart saver. Fiscally responsible.” Justin pauses, and JC can tell he is listening to Radiohead in the background. For a lingering second, JC feels proud. “So, is this the first of many double dates?” 

JC really, really doesn’t think so. 

“Probably not,” he admits, even though he knows he should probably try. Nikki is pretty, and convenient. Thinking the latter probably makes him an asshole. 

“Good,” Justin says, and JC decides he absolutely cannot read into it. 

“Hey, I think I should go. Need to shower, smell like a bar.”  
  
“As if you even know what a bar smells like,” Justin scoffs, and they say goodnight. 

He doesn’t move for several minutes. 

The headache he experiences in the morning isn’t worth it.

_______________

The first time he gets drunk with Justin, they’re in Europe and their first album is climbing the charts quickly. BMG thinks it might actually hit number one next week, which is at least seventy types of crazy. 

November was cold in Germany, but JC liked it. It made all of the stage lights tolerable, because you could walk outside and instantly cool off. Now it’s May and it’s warm, and their hotel doesn’t have AC. Europe is weird that way, and JC feels sort of sticky after a show, can’t shake it until he’s taken a long shower. Germany has been good to them though, so even though the hours are long and the pay is absolute shit, they get room service tonight and he’s more than old enough to get whatever booze he wants. 

Last week a recording tech had offered him weed but he declined, though Joey and Chris seemed to have a great time. He’s kind of scared of blowing their morality clause, even though he thinks Lance might be more of a risk than he is. At least, he suspects as such. He isn’t brave enough to ask. 

Chris and Joey go out, and Lance is using the quiet time to practice choreo in his and Joey’s empty room. Chris lucked out and got the single this time, and JC knows that means either he or Joey will be bringing a girl back; hell, maybe two girls will be coming back with them tonight. JC guesses they’re kind of famous here now, which feels weird when they go home and nobody even bothers giving him a second glance. 

He’s roomed up with Justin, like it is most nights, and Justin is sixteen and eager to get a buzz. 

“It’s Europe, JC. I’m pretty sure they won’t bat an eyelash,” and okay, sure. “It’s not like they’re gonna phone Lou and tell him,” and JC doesn’t know if it’s the look on Justin’s face or the way he is purposely exaggerating his southern drawl because he knows JC finds it endearing, but he’s making a call. It’s Germany so they get beers and enough to do a few shots of gin, because despite Justin’s best efforts, he’s pretty sure Justin will not like Jaeger. 

He’s already showered (it was quick) and in comfortable clothes (his favorite threadbare track pants and a t-shirt, because it’s too hot for much else) when room service arrives at the door, and he’s quick to open it before Lance can hear the commotion in the room across from them. He signs and tips, and brings in the ice bucket with a large dark jug sitting inside of it, and two chilled pint glasses. Europe is dope. Justin is all grabby hands and big eyes, and JC smacks his hand away and it earns him a pout. 

“Patience, young padawan,” he says, and grabs the small bottle of gin and the two shot glasses first. “You can’t do the beer first, you’ll vomit everywhere and want to kill me tomorrow. We’ve got two interviews before noon, you can’t be barfing all over the radio dj,” he adds an eye roll for good measure. 

“So gimme a shot,” Justin says, self-assured and a bit cocky. As always. It makes JC laugh, and something fond tugs at him from the inside. Justin looks the part of a popstar right now, in his dark grey sweats and a ribbed tank top. He’s been working out in the hotels to tone up his arms, and it shows. JC tries not to look, and mostly succeeds, but he can’t help it. He’s pretty sure Justin flirts with him more often than not, but Justin flirts with a lot of people. JC doesn’t take it personally. 

Once the first shots are poured, JC and Justin clink glasses and laugh before downing them. JC is much more experienced now, but Justin definitely makes a face. 

“It’s kinda flowery,” he says, but he’s reaching to pour himself another. “But not bad, I don’t hate it.” He pours JC another shot too, when he holds his glass out. 

They do the second ones at the same time, and Justin handles it better than the first. 

“I’m like, probably pretty far behind by German standards. Maybe I wasn’t old enough last Fall, but I’m more than legal by their standards.” 

To drink, to drink, to drink. That’s what he means. When he licks his lips and goes to pour another shot, JC doesn’t think before scooting up on the bed and placing his hand over Justin’s to slow him down. 

“It’s been two minutes, let it sink in a bit. Don’t rush it. Drinking is an experience, but not a race. Don’t get shitfaced just to prove you’re a real German on the inside, or something.” He makes a face at him but Justin just grins and doesn’t pull his hand away. 

Instead, he turns his wrist so that their palms are together, touching touching touching. It’s making JC nervous, but he can’t force himself to move. Their fingers slide together for a second, and then two seconds, and still neither of them move. Right there on JC’s bed, hands intertwined. They’d experienced a lot together over the years, but this was definitely a first. It felt exciting though, and terrifying. 

“Things are getting so crazy now, it’s like. This isn’t even the start of it, is what my momma says. She says it’ll catch fire over Europe, not just Germany. The girls are already so loud.” Justin’s voice is a bit quiet and his hand is still in JC’s, so JC gives it a soft squeeze. 

“I know, _you_. I also know you’ll handle it in stride and make all of them swoon. They’ll be tossing rocks at your window and keeping me awake,” it’s a horrible attempt to lighten the mood, but Justin pities him enough to let out a soft chuckle. The light in the room is low but not too dim, most of it pouring out of their bathroom. The table between the two beds has a lamp and it’s on, but it isn’t bright enough to make JC feel exposed. They can be honest here. 

“We’ve got each other, though. We don’t have to do this on our own.” Justin seems relieved to hear it, and gives a nod. 

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to make it sound so depressing. I’m grateful, it’s exciting. It’s also scary as hell, but when I try to explain it to Trace he just doesn’t quite get it. He’s coming out next month though, so he can see for himself. He doesn’t believe it.” 

Their hands slip apart at the mention of the outside world, but JC takes it in stride and pours them both another shot. He is starting to feel his first two, but three usually gives him a really nice buzz. 

“I get it. Tyler thinks I’m making most of it up, but I guess my mom has gone to use the library computer to print out some articles she can find, even if she can’t understand what they’re saying.” It makes him miss home, miss his family, but he keeps it at bay. 

By the time they get to their pints they’re both comfortable on the bed, JC on his side and Justin propped up against the pillows. They have music on and it’s after midnight. Justin is going through a TLC phase, like it’s 1994 and CrazySexyCool just dropped, but JC finds himself charmed by Justin’s singalong to Diggin’ on You. 

“It’s on like that, it’s on like that,” they sing softly in unison, and JC tries not to want to kiss him. He shouldn’t. 

It’s not until Justin is really getting into “I must admit to you, when I heard the lines you threw,” he flicks his hand a bit, drunkenly, and it’s cute as all hell, “although it usually turns me off, but this time you have turned me on,” that JC realizes he’s in way over his head, because maybe he’s noticed over the last six months that he flirts back, too. Justin’s always been his friend and maybe it’s more, but it can’t be and it shouldn’t be. So it isn’t, and it won’t be. 

He clears his throat and fakes a yawn, awkwardly shuffling to the other bed, which was originally Justin’s. It’s closer to their tiny balcony, which lets in some noise from outside. It’s warm out, but the breeze feels nice. It’s barely big enough to stand on so JC doesn’t bother walking over, just moves beds and feigns exhaustion. 

Justin, cool as ever, lets it happen and doesn’t press. JC would give anything to know what’s on his mind, but doesn’t dare ask. 

But it’s them, and everything is fine, so the bedside lamp gets turned off but the conversation continues, even after the remainder of the booze has been moved to the table next to the bathroom and they’ve both brushed their teeth again. Justin is definitely drunk and JC might be, too. They end up back in the right beds and their conversation turns exhausted and silly. 

Justin brings a girl back to their shared hotel room two weeks later, and JC can hear everything when he’s in the shower. They’d gone to number one, so he’s only celebrating. The girl speaks great English and has one hell of a dirty mouth, which JC doesn’t think is always best for somebody’s first time. He takes an extra long time and his fingers and toes have gone pruny, but when he comes out with a towel around his waist to dig in his suitcase for some basketball shorts and a shirt, Justin is alone and doesn’t look any different than he did two hours ago, when JC had last seen him at dinner. Justin had gone out with Joey but that clearly hadn’t lasted long, as though there had been a goal. Get Justin laid. 

Justin doesn’t say anything to him as he heads into the bathroom to shower, and JC pretends to be asleep by the time he gets out. 

Good. He knew their thing was a Nothing, capital N. As it should be. 

______________

They’re getting royally fucked, and everybody knows it. The money just isn’t there. When they consider how many hours they’ve worked, the shit they’ve dealt with, and the amount of records and singles they’ve sold, none of it adds up. They’re suing TransCon’s ass off, and if JC never has to see Lou fucking Pearlman again, he’ll be happy. The entire deal is bullshit, and just thinking about it makes his skin crawl. They’re big well, everywhere now, and they’ve got the fans on their side. 

Lance is worried they won’t be able to keep their name, and Chris is worried he’s going to go to prison for homicide. Joey is mostly worried about the emotional toll it’s taking on him and his family; he broke up with Kelly last week, because he just couldn’t deal with more demands than the lawsuit and everything else. Business must continue on, and all of that. JC doesn’t think he’s ever seen Joey as worried about something as he is now, and it’s making him uneasy. 

Justin is mostly quiet now, which is something Justin has never been. The boy is downright obnoxious most of the time, and somehow everybody finds it endearing. 

Not JC, nope. He does not. 

It’s not until after they’ve settled out of court, sure they’re keeping their name, and it looks like Jive is going to be offering them a much better deal that they won’t be able to fuck them over with, that JC allows himself to rest. 

He’s back at home now, an Orlando October night, and he knows he has little time to rest because things are going to only get crazier. He turns his stereo onto the disc option and hits shuffle out of the six he’s got in there, not even sure what four of the six are. He hopes he’s pleasantly surprised. 

They go to the studio next week to work on the album, Jive’s on board, and Gloria _ fuuuucking _ Estefan wants to record with them. Steve’s around with his camera a lot less these days, but he thinks he’ll want to be around for the work they’ll put in on the next record, even if it’s only ever for their own memories. 

It’s after eleven when his cell phone rings, and he reaches for it and answers without checking the caller ID. He hasn’t charged it in three days and the battery on his Nokia is nearly dead. 

“JC, get your door. Didn’t want you to think I’m a stalker. Or, even worse, Chris.” And then the phone goes dead, because Justin is an asshole. 

He’s at the door when JC opens it, and walks in without a word. He is dangling a small plastic bag, so JC knows he got weed. It’s enough to make him not give Justin shit for bothering with a phone call-- he’s got a key to JC’s place; he’s had the spare since literally day one. His place is a full thirty minutes from JC’s, but he apparently doesn’t mind the drive. 

It’s not until they’re out back on the deck and they’re sharing a bowl that Justin finally, fucking finally, says what’s on his mind. He’s clearly agitated, but it’s all fine because JC is really just there for the ride now, anyway. 

“Britney’s not getting it and Nick fucking Carter,” Justin pauses to make a face, even though they really don’t hate the guy, “says they’re going to sue Jive for signing us. Deception, or some shit. Like we’re really going off their playbook. Right, because we made them make us an offer, right?” He takes a big hit and holds it for a second, then passes the bowl back to JC. He’s already a little bit stoned but he takes another hit anyway before putting it off to the side, smoke still idly drifting off the pipe before it goes out. JC is waiting for Justin to continue, but he doesn’t. 

“I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about. What’s Britney not getting?” he asks, curiously. Last time he checked, the two of them seemed deliriously happy. 

“That I just need some space right now. I don’t want to have to talk to anybody.” 

JC wants to say, “but you’re here, and you’re talking to me,” but he opts to bite his tongue. His mouth tastes a bit like smoke and like pine, but he doesn’t hate it.

Instead he says, “she’s probably just worried,” and uses his shoulder to nudge at Justin, who is sat next to him with their feet in the pool. It’s dark outside but there are lights reflecting off the lake water through his shrubbery, which is pretty awesome. He takes a second to appreciate it, his nice little view of Lake Victoria and his dope backyard that’s like a tamed jungle. 

“She probably should be,” Justin says. It sounds very matter-of-fact, and JC is so lost in his thoughts that it takes a second for it to sink in. He’s a bit stoned, you see. 

“Why for?” he asks stupidly, wondering if there had been something Justin had said that he had somehow missed. 

“Probably because I came over here with the intent to kiss you, if I’m being totally honest.” 

And JC just. He freezes. Everything around him comes to a screeching, ugly halt. Air feels trapped in his throat, and there’s nothing he wants more than to ask Justin to repeat himself. 

“Excuse me?” he asks instead, after seconds have passed. “You what now?” 

He can practically feel Justin roll his eyes.

“You heard me. I came over here with it in my head that I wasn’t going to be pissed off, I’d bring weed and convince myself it was okay to kiss you. I just… feel like you’ve kept me together these last few months, maybe you have been for years. And it’s all done now, it’s over, and shit is still going to suck but it can’t possibly ever be that bad for us again. I didn’t want to talk to her, I didn’t want to call my mom or Paul, or deal with my dad. I wanted to come see you, wanted to kiss you.” It all comes out, but it isn’t fast. It’s measured, like Justin has learned to be. 

“I don’t think you should kiss me,” is all JC says back, and Justin sighs next to him. Between them, their hands move closer. JC doesn’t think when he takes Justin’s in his, lacing their fingers together. This happens sometimes, for comfort. Out of words unspoken, out of breaths not shared. 

He kicks his feet a little bit and tries to exhale steadily, but fails. It’s shaky and unsure, because he almost knew this was coming but never thought it would. It’s a simultaneous mindfuck that’s making his insides crawl with something unsettling. 

“Kind of a mixed signal here,” Justin tells him, and gives JC’s hand a little squeeze. JC’s chest feels tight, like he’s wound up so snug he might snap. 

“You know I want to fucking kiss you,” he replies, and removes his hand from their tangled mess of fingers and pressed-together palms. He puts distance between them by standing up, feet wet on the deck, and takes two steps, and then three. 

“You can’t just show up here and spout this shit off like everything’s going to finally fall into place. Not when it’s because you’re upset about your stupid hearthtob rival, or when you’re one half of America’s favorite sweethearts,” he says, and his voice comes out angrier than he expected. He’s usually really, really chill when he smokes. Right now he feels like there’s a storm raging inside of him, too many battles that he’s fought for too long. It’s all so gloriously fucked up. He hears Justin standing up too, and takes another step away. Doesn’t want to look at him. 

“You act like we both haven’t known for ages,” Justin argues, voice rising a bit. JC’s grateful for the privacy they have. 

Maybe it was always unspoken, maybe it was there. But they sure as hell haven’t been having heart-to-hearts over the past few years about this. Because it’s doomed, it can’t ever happen. 

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” is what JC comes back with, finally turning to face him. “That I want to kiss you? Yeah, okay. So maybe I do. That I wonder what it would be like, if things were all very, very different? Of fucking course I do, Justin. But they aren’t, and they won’t be. I don’t see the point.” 

“It wouldn’t have killed you to tell me it wasn’t one-sided. God, I fucking shot hearts out of my eyes at you.” Justin’s words make JC laugh, but it almost sounds bitter. Maybe he did know. Maybe he saw the looks Chris gave him, too; all too knowing, all too aware. 

“Maybe it is one-sided,” JC says, full of spite. 

“Bullshit,” Justin shoots back, eyes narrowing. “Fucking liar.” 

  
Something snaps in him, then. He takes the few remaining steps between them and backs Justin up until they’re pressed against his sliding glass door, breaths heavy and eyes locked. It almost hurts to look at him. 

“Bullshit,” JC agrees, and his eyes drop to Justin’s lips. Somehow their legs have slotted together, and JC is aware that Justin is already half-hard, and they haven’t even kissed. He nearly groans at the realization, stupidly into every single bit of whateverthefuck is happening. He’s never been more angry, and he’s probably never been more turned on. 

He closes the distance between them then, presses their lips together without hesitation. He’s been waiting too long, always been held back for too many other reasons. He can’t name one right now, because all he wants is this. 

It’s been months since he’s kissed another man, but it wasn’t like this. It was dark and rushed, in a bathroom at a club. This isn’t rushed, because their anger quickly gives way to a languid, deep kiss. Mouths open, tongues meeting, falling into a perfect rhythm that leaves him breathless. When they part, foreheads pressed together, Justin’s lit perfectly by the light from his bedroom coming through the glass, and he’s no stranger. Hasn’t been for years, and probably knows JC better than anyone else on the planet. 

Their breathing is ragged but they go in again, this time with more urgency. Now that it’s happened it’s like a dam has broken inside of him, and he wants. JC wants so, so much. He drops his hand from where it’s been pressed to the glass above Justin’s shoulder and moves it down between them to cup Justin through his basketball shorts, definitely more than half-hard. Justin fucking _whimpers_ into the kiss, and JC has to pull away because his mouth is watering over the possibilities. He’s filthy, but he’s never dared allowed himself to think about this. 

“Wanna blow you,” Justin breathes, and. Fuck. 

JC’s dick twitches and his hips involuntarily jut forward. Apparently Justin has thought about this, maybe even many times. Instead of allowing anything else right now, he presses their lips together again and moves his hand enough to squeeze gently at Justin’s length, presses the pad of his thumb against the head of his cock through the material separating them. 

He bites Justin’s bottom lip and uses his hand to apply more pressure, and Justin lets out the most perfect sound JC has ever heard. 

“You like that?” he asks, and buries his free hand into the hair at the nape of Justin’s neck, moves it up high enough to tug at his curls. He’s fully hard now, himself, intrigued at the thought of Justin loving this, loving that JC was being just a little bit rough. His other hand moves to grip at Justin’s hip, pressing them together to make him aware of just how turned on he was, how hard he was. For him. 

“Have you ever?” he asked, didn’t know if he wanted to know. “Another guy?” and Justin just gives a quick nod. Something sharp and hot burns inside of JC at that, possessive and demanding. 

“Just blowjobs,” Justin elaborates and, goddamn. Is he wanting more now? Is he wanting more than this? 

JC rewards him with a tug to his hair for honesty before stepping back just enough to move them away from the door. He slides it open and tugs Justin in behind him, quickly pressing him up against the wall and kissing down his neck. He wants to bite and leave marks, but doesn’t dare. Not yet, not when he knows Justin wants it so bad by the way he’s keening against him, hard and wanton up against the wall. 

They stumble to the bed and JC tugs off his shirt, pushes Justin’s up once he’s laid back against the bed. 

“If somebody was out there on a boat right now, they’d. Fuck, they’d see this,” Justin breathes, and JC stills from where he’s got his mouth against Justin’s stomach. Their eyes meet and JC, fuck, he wants to die. 

“I really, really didn’t know you were like this. I think you’re ruining me,” he confesses, has to lower his hand down to press against his hard cock to calm himself down. “You’d like that? You’d like people seeing me take you apart?” he asks, and Justin’s head falls back when JC bites at his hip bone hard, enough to leave red marks that’ll blossom beautifully into a bruise. He’s tugging down at the soft material now, not stopping until Justin’s cock springs free, hard and flushed, the tip already wet. “They’d see how you’re already wet for me, leaking and needy. Would you like that?” 

Justin’s hips buck up, heels digging into the bed, knees bending just slightly. JC licks his hand and wraps it around the base of his cock, not applying much pressure. 

“Fuck, _please_,” Justin says, but it’s barely more than a whisper. He’s propped himself up on an elbow now, looking down at JC and using his hand to get into JC’s hair, as if that’ll be what convinces him to duck his head down and swallow his cock. 

It apparently works though, because JC doesn’t worry if he’s out of practice. He dips his head down and takes the head of Justin’s cock into his mouth, tongue pressing against the underside, just bobbing his head shallowly for a moment before he looks up to meet his eyes and swallows him down at the same time he digs his fingers into this outside of Justin’s thigh, gripping hard enough to leave a mark. 

A gorgeous crescendo of “ah, ah, ahh,” slips past Justin’s lips, and JC wishes they had done this months ago. Justin doesn’t dare rock his hips, willing to just accept whatever it is JC gives him. He’s panting when JC pulls off a moment later, lips wet and swollen with spit. 

Justin hurries to move and reach for JC’s sweats, still stupidly rolled up from when they had their feet in the pool, and wastes no time in tugging them down. JC is urging Justin to get all the way out of his shorts, which are now bunched up below his knees, and there’s a tumble for a moment as the both shrug off their remaining clothes. There’s a moment of looking at each other and then, plain as day, like he’s talking about the goddamned weather, Justin has the nerve to go and say, “want you to fuck me,” and everything that’s ever kept JC alive is nowhere near as good as this. 

“Yeah?” he teases back, but Justin’s already got a hand wrapped around his dick. His hand is dry but it still feels good; he’s just exploring, eyes keep dropping down to look. JC feels like he’s nineteen and realizing he’s got a pretty good-sized dick, better than average. 

Leave it to Justin Timberlake to be a fucking size queen. 

The thought makes him snort out an ugly laugh, and Justin has no idea what triggered it but he laughs too, eyes crinkling at the corners. JC has to kiss him then, both of them on their dumb knees, sinking into the bed, and falling back onto the pillows, dicks brushing and the whole world melting away. 

“Wanted this for so long, had the stupidest crush on you when I was a kid,” Justin admits, and JC fucking preens inside. 

“Finally realized you were getting attractive in Europe, I think,” JC admits, mouth working over Justin’s jaw. “Realized I was into you proper about six months ago, and thought I was fucked.” 

“You’re not, but I’m about to be,” and Justin’s joke is so stupid he laughs, and then bites his jaw and grabs his ass and suddenly nobody is laughing at all anymore. 

JC’s fucked one other guy, almost two years ago. A guy he knew in high school, used to play football. Never gave JC the time of day. 

It was disappointing. 

Somehow, JC doesn’t think this will be. 

He slides away for a moment to grab his lube from the bedside table, and just needs one condom but grabs a string. He isn’t going to continue bother with reassurances, because he knows now that they both want this. But, still. 

“If you want to stop, we can stop. I’d be more than happy to go back to getting my mouth on your cock,” he reassures him, and Justin groans. 

“Consent is sexy,” he says, and JC smacks at his hip. “Fuck off, it is. I like that you’re cool with whatever but god, please trust me when I tell you that I want this. Tried fucking myself with my fingers earlier and it was a disaster.” 

JC feels his mouth go dry at that, mental image clouding his head. Justin uses the opportune distraction as a chance to get lube on his hand and around JC’s cock, covering the length in two slow pulls. JC shudders and looks down, the visual of this enough alone to get him off for months. 

He bats Justin’s hand away and ducks back down, not joking about his earlier words. He doesn’t waste time in getting his mouth around his cock, but uses his hand to single-handedly pop the top on the lube and get some onto his hand, fingers coated. Justin parts his thighs and JC sucks harder, pulling up until the head of Justin’s cock slips through his lips, the suction creating a soft _ pop _.He’s got a finger rubbing at Justin’s hole now, daring to look up and meet his eyes. Justin looks blissed out, eyes hazy and hair a fucking mess. He’s got marks forming on his throat and a soft bruise forming on his hip, and JC vows to leave him littered with more before the night is done. 

“Are you going to let me open you up, baby? Gonna let me get you ready for me?” 

“Did you just call me,” Justin pants, head dropping back as JC pushes a single digit inside, mouthing at his balls. “--_ baby _, you fucker,” and if his cock didn’t jump at it, JC would worry he had fucked up. He gives Justin a split second to adjust to the first before he slides a second in, lets them rest there, buried to the hilt, before easing them in and out. Justin is panting now, squirming and pulling at his own hair, biting at his bottom lip when JC takes him back between his lips, head bobbing as his fingers work. 

“I’m going to need you to come for me first, gotta get you relaxed and feeling good,” he says when he pulls off, words muttered against the length of Justin’s cock, wet and slick with spit. JC had seen the search history on Justin’s laptop once, knows he’s into sloppy blowjobs and deepthroating. It’s an unfair advantage then, because he purposely lets his mouth get extra wet before going down again, at the exact same time he scissors his fingers, and Justin cries out, loudly, at the stretch. 

His stereo is on in the living room, long forgotten, but he hears the faint sounds of Six Underground and he wishes he could hit repeat. He eases in a third and Justin’s hips are bucking now, rolling with want, and JC lets him. He works his hand faster and lets Justin fuck into his mouth, greedily taking it all. 

“God fucking damn it,” Justin groans, like he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to let the inevitable happen. 

JC pulls off but keeps his fingers working, kisses at the base of Justin’s shaft. “Do it, come for me,” and Justin just _ does _, jizz spurting up over his stomach while his cock twitches, JC chasing it with his mouth. He licks at drops on Justin’s hip and Justin whines. He’s stopped coming but JC takes the head of his cock back into his mouth, tasting him there, and slowly works his fingers so that they crook up at the perfect angle, and hums, pleased, when he gets another spurt against his tongue. 

“Holy fuck,” Justin cries, hands gripping at the bedding, and JC rubs the tips of his fingers in little circles, not letting up. “Sensitive, sensitive--” Justin pleads, but JC doesn’t stop. He keeps working his mouth, refusing to let Justin go soft, and rubbing at his prostate torturously. He’s victorious when Justin’s legs part wider, seemingly lost for words. 

JC’s mouth leaves his cock to kiss at the pale insides of his thighs, sucking bruises to his flesh. Let them be discovered, let whomever find out. This is happening, and he will not feel sorry for finally getting what he fucking wants. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck_ me,” is Justin’s chant now, filled up with three fingers and maybe ready to take a cock. 

To take JC’s cock. 

He’s begging for it, pleading with JC to give him what he wants, and who is JC to deny this beautiful boy anything? 

  
He would give him everything. 

He wipes his fingers on the bedspread in order to give himself the traction to tear open a condom, quickly rolling it onto his cock. He’s so fucking hard, everything feels heightened. He moves pillows down beneath Justin, angling him up to make it easier. 

Easier to fuck him, to get the angle right. He nearly comes at the thought. 

Justin is watching, biting on his bottom lip, looking thoroughly debauched with jizz drying on his stomach. JC wants to make him come again, wants to fill him up and tear him apart just to piece him back together again with his mouth, with his hands. 

He uses plenty of lube, refuses to do this anything but properly, and lines himself up but doesn’t push in. He wraps his left hand around Justin’s hard cock, giving him a lazy stroke, before starting to push in. He wraps his hand around Justin’s girth, fingers gripping softly at the base, sliding up to circle the head of his dick, eliciting sounds JC wants to put on repeat forever. 

“Fucking big,” Justin is panting out, and JC would mock him for sounding like bad porn if it wasn’t so fucking hot. 

“Splitting you open,” he agrees, hand leaving Justin’s length so that he can lean forward and push the rest of the way in, Justin’s legs wrapping around him as he bottoms out. JC leans down and kisses him then, presses their mouths together in a dirty kiss, tongues and biting. 

“You taste like me,” is something he never thought he’d hear Justin say, but it’ll be all he can think about for days. 

“Gonna feel me tomorrow,” JC says, finally rolling his hips once, twice, before pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in, wondering if it will get the reaction he thinks it will. 

It does. 

Justin cries out, grips at JC’s back, shaking with whatever he’s holding back. JC wants him to let it go. 

“Gonna think about me fucking you, filling you up with my cock. You’re gonna press at those bruises I’m leaving and get hard just thinking about it, have to jerk off and wish it was my mouth.” He’s only half aware of his words, but Justin is clearly into it, moaning in agreement. 

“Maybe I’ll have to come over and fuck you again. Just walk in and push you up against a wall, ass out and needy. I’d fuck you with the door open, know you’d want to get caught,” and at that, Justin’s spine arches, fingers digging into JC’s shoulder, and he leans up and kisses him, searingly hot, biting at his bottom lip. JC slams back into him in return, fucking into him hard and fast. 

“Want you to bend me over next time, want you to fuck me dirty. Need you to fuck me hard,” his voice breaks then, but he leans up like he’s shy, like he can’t finish the rest as loud, “want you to spank me,” and JC’s hips falter at that, nearly fucking coming at the thought. 

“Fucking dirty, aren’t you?” he breathes, burying his face against Justin’s neck. “Had no fucking idea, baby. Had no idea you’d be like this,” and Justin whines again, pathetic and desperate. 

“_Baby_,” he says again, testing him. Justin’s eyes squeeze shut, whole body shudders, and he’s reaching down to furiously stoke his own cock, too overstimulated to even hide how much he likes it. 

JC sucks at the spot below his ear he seems to like, fucking into him relentlessly, driving in deep, and Justin goes taut when JC hits his prostate. “Baby,” he says again, and Justin just fucking keens, jerking at his cock and making a complete mess of himself. 

“Look at you, coming apart for me.” When he leans back enough to look at his face, Justin has tears in his eyes and he’s fucking beautiful. 

“You’re so good for me, baby. Look at you, just like this,” he soothes, and Justin is coming again, less than before but maybe harder, his whole body wracked with it as he clenches hard around JC. JC fucks him through it, feels himself nearing the edge. 

“Want you to come all over me. Fucking claim me,” Justin begs, voice wrecked and hoarse, better than JC has ever heard it. That does it for him and he tries to pull out gently, but Justin still hisses at the loss. He pulls off the condom and his hand is joined by Justin’s, slick with his own come, and he’s fucking into the tight heat, skin against skin, and he comes, falling forward and catching himself with his free hand. He’s fucking into Justin’s hand, coming all over his stomach, the mess of them both lingering there, the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. 

He doesn’t know what any of this means, doesn’t know what it says about them. 

They don’t cuddle afterwards. 

They lay side by side, catching their breath. JC gets up to walk into his bathroom, gets a washcloth wet and brings it back. He’s unsure whether or not he should clean Justin up, but he doesn’t want to ask. He does it, softly, and Justin watches him out from under where he’s got his arm slung across his face. 

“Fuck,” Justin says, voice slightly closer to normal, but still rough around the edges. He sounds, and looks, beautifully fucked out. 

JC gives a short chuckle and tosses the rag back into the open door of his bathroom, hoping it lands somewhere on the sink and not on his floor. He tosses the condom into the bedside bin, and finds himself lying next to Justin, not for the first time in their lives. 

It’s never been like this, though. Never like this. 

He doesn’t know what any of it means. 

His breath catches when Justin reaches out to slide his hand into JC’s, their fingers easily working to slot together, twining them up. 

They don’t cuddle. 

But this is enough. 

JC doesn’t remember falling asleep. But when he wakes up in the morning, Justin is gone. 


	2. Stuck with Papers in the Magazines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty talk and bad poetry. Boys doing stupid things. 
> 
> Chris being the real star of the whole goddamn show.

About a week later he sees pictures of Justin and Britney in LA, supposedly shopping for a new couch for the house they’re buying together soon. If this is true, JC hasn’t heard a single thing about it from Justin himself. 

Of course, he only finds this out when he’s checking out at a grocery store after midnight (it’s 24 hours, so he likes to go when he’s least likely to be seen by anybody. Plus, the late night cashier is a sweet old guy named Henry, and JC likes to see him light up whenever he remembers to ask about his grandkids.), and sees a trashy tabloid in the small magazine section. They’re in the bottom right hand corner, and Justin looks good. His bruises have either faded fast, or he’s got makeup covering them up. JC thinks it’s likely the second option. 

There’s no way Britney hasn’t seen the bruises, and he feels immensely guilty. It’s not like he dislikes Britney, because it’s actually quite the opposite. She’s goofy and a little bit ditzy, but JC loves it. She’s always been sweet to him, and he felt even brotherly towards her for a while. It’s less so now, and they’re casual friends, but they have so much history that he feels like the biggest scumbag on the planet. 

He tries not to get turned on when he thinks about the bruises dotting Justin’s neck and hip bones, or the way he tasted. He fails, but he won’t get off to it. 

They only have four more days before they need to report to the studio, but they’ve all been busy on their “days off.” Justin is doing promo with Britney (ie: be seen together, snag article headlines, keep the gossip flowing, milk their relationship), and all of them have had radio or phone interviews. But in four days, seeing everybody is inevitable. He hasn’t talked to Justin since, and doesn’t know if he wants to. 

What do you say when you’ve fucked your best friend of nine years? How do you justify a casual conversation about the weather when you know what the other person sounds like when they come? 

He spends his free time doing some reading, and he gets really into _A Farewell to Arms_, and unexpectedly stays up until well past 5am to finish it. His book is now covered in notes, with bits underlined and some even highlighted. He thinks the ending is really fucked up, but even darker when he learns the story behind the book. It’s such a weird method of revenge, because pouring your soul out on paper means you give a shit about somebody still, willing to sit there and spend hours of your life bleeding onto a typewriter everything that’s been buried deep in your gut. 

But, he gets it. If somebody had metaphorically ripped his heart out of his chest, he would want to write his own version of it, and fuck it all up in the end. 

Killed her right off, Hemingway did. 

He’s almost fallen asleep on the couch when his phone buzzes from where it’s resting on his coffee table. He reaches for it, checks the caller ID. 

_Oh_. He wasn’t really expecting this. 

He answers the phone, but he doesn’t say a word. Neither does Justin, and he refuses to make the first move. He can hear Justin breathe, and it sounds slow and steady. 

It’s 2am in California, so Justin might be just getting in. They’ll serve minors there, LA loves catering to popstars. He wonders if Justin’s been drinking, if he had to get wasted to call JC. 

“Not drunk,” Justin says softly, as though he can read JC’s mind. The thought makes him internally cringe, absolutely not interested in that ever being a possibility. 

He hums in a noncommittal response. He doesn’t say anything else, but he can tell Justin isn’t. He wonders if he’s having trouble sleeping, because sometimes he does. They’ve spent enough hours awake in the lounge of a tour bus. JC is pretty good at sleeping most of the time, but Justin deals with insomnia regularly. One stretch of their last tour, Justin didn’t sleep more than ten hours in nearly five days, and JC had eventually made him drink cold medicine even though he wasn’t sick. 

He doesn’t know what worries Justin so much. He’s a very confident, stand-out frontman. JC supposes they both are, but Justin is the one everybody loves. He’s got charisma for days, but he has started getting really good at conveying an image. Their media training had paid off for him, because while Lance has basically just been instructed to “be less flamboyant,” (JC felt horrible for him), Justin had developed a whole mask. 

The Justin that people knew was always suave and collected, was a bit cocky, but you still wanted to root for him. He wouldn’t bow to anybody, and young guys decidedly wanted to be him. They didn’t see the bits he kept to himself. A psychic had once told him that he was an Aquarius down to his core and since JC’s gotten his Leo pendant, he’s sort of read up more on astrology and thinks Justin is most _definitely_ a strong Aquarius. He needs to retreat a lot, and even though he’s social he is most comfortable around his friends. He makes killer small talk with anybody he meets, but is a master at never letting anybody get down past the surface. He’s the ultimate actor, because that isn’t quite who he really is. 

He’s charming and can be moody. Justin once withdrew from everybody outside of work hours for almost two weeks. He wasn’t like, experiencing a depressive episode or anything, but he needed to recharge from the constant bombardment of everybody needing something from him. 

He has tried not to focus on the bit about the polarity that existed between Aquarians and Leos, because he wasn’t sure he totally bought into the astrology thing, anyway. So what if he had purchased two books on it? 

Opposite signs. Paula Abdul did say that opposites attract, so maybe she was onto something there. 

Silence has lapsed into almost fifteen minutes on the phone, and his eyes are burning. He allows them to close and just continues to listen to Justin breathing. 

He doesn’t think anybody knows how Justin’s cockiness melts away in bed, gets gorgeously submissive and needy. He hopes nobody does, anyway. He’d like to be the only one to know it; to have seen him like that, vulnerable and open and shamelessly wanton. 

He’s got his hand resting on top of his hardening dick, but he refuses to move it. Just thinking about how gratuitously Justin had been praising him and about how openly he had begged for it was turning him on, but he couldn’t. 

He goes to move his hand and can’t help but drag his palm over himself, and his breath hitches a little. Shit, shit, shit. 

He pulls his hand back, the little fucking traitor. Acting indecently, without his consent. 

He hears Justin’s breathing speed up for a moment before slowing back down, and he knows that he’s been heard. Justin’s breaths are shallower and controlled now, perfectly measured as though he doesn’t want JC to know that he knows. 

JC can hear him shifting around now, and what sounds like Justin settled onto a bed. JC wonders if he’s gotten under the covers, or whether he’s just on top of it, still dressed. He bets Justin is staying at The Chateau or at the Roosevelt, because he likes those. Bourgeois, his boy is. 

They must not be staying together, then. Something in his gut stirs and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Part of it feels like victory. 

It’s a cheap one. 

But oh, when he hears Justin’s breath hitch, it feels like everything. 

His hand moves back to the front of his shorts. They’re loose and give him room, which is nice because he’s nearly half-hard. His semi isn’t uncomfortable, but he works to adjust himself. His hand doesn’t move from there, loosely gripping at his dick through his shorts, feeling himself start to harden up. 

Justin exhales a shaky breath on his end, and JC hears the tell-tale sign of a zipper being pulled down. He tries not to groan, lucky he succeeds because he wants to ignore that this is even happening. He wants to, and he tries to. 

But it’s pointless. He was probably doomed as soon as the phone rang. 

He wonders if Justin called with intent. He wonders if he was out most of the night, and who he was with. 

He feels like a creep for it, for even thinking about it. 

“Do it,” he instructs quietly, his voice carrying an edge to it that isn’t normally there. 

He expects Justin to shoot back a, “do what?” like the brat he is, but he doesn’t. 

“Yes,” is what he gets in return, more of an exhale than anything, no real sound coming out. God, he must already be so hard if he’s readily complying. He wonders if Justin was turned on before the call, or if knowing JC was on the other line, breath hitching, is what did it for him. 

Knowing Justin, he called with intent. 

“Now,” he adds, more firm, and Justin’s breath hitches loudly. JC hears him lick his palm and can picture him sliding his hand down the front of his boxer-briefs, gripping his length. He can hear when Justin does it, too; he lets out a little grunt, breathy and quiet, and JC gives his own cock a soft squeeze. He does not want to do this, but Justin has really left him with no choice. 

“Stop,” he demands, surprised at the authority of his tone. It’s laced with something sweet, giving away every bit of him he wants to deny, but he clearly means business. He hears Justin’s hand cease, no longer a rustling of clothes. 

“Still have my jeans on, just undid the button and the zip, didn’t even get to push them down past my hips yet. I danced tonight,” he is segueing into nothing, JC thinks for a moment, but when he continues he’s obviously very in charge of where this is going. “And when somebody’d touch my hips, I could still feel you there. So many little bruises,” his voice is coy, and soft. He knows exactly what he’s doing to JC. 

“Go on, baby,” he encourages, his thumb circling the clearly defined head of his cock, material not doing much to hide anything now. He’s already hard, has been since Justin obeyed him so well, so eagerly. 

Justin lets out a soft noise and JC can hear him shift around a bit, and he wishes he could see him like this. 

“I only had one drink, way earlier, but I didn’t want you to think I need to be drunk to get off with you. It was a Long Island, strong, so I had a little buzz around eleven. So I was dancing, and they were playing Jay-Z, you know how it has the—“ he mimics the beat, so JC “mhmms” in agreement, and he continues, “and the dj had it bleed over into Praise You, and he says, _through the hard times and the good_—“ he cuts off then, and JC hears him try to steady his breath. He’s fighting to stay composed, and JC is obsessed with every fucking second of this. 

“I have to celebrate you, baby,” JC finishes for him, voice low now, knows it’s bordering on obscene. He isn’t keeping the rhythm like Justin was, he speaks the words clearly, conversationally. 

“Have to praise you like I should,” he tacks on, and his hand is sliding into his shorts, reaching for skin-on-skin. He hisses softly when he makes contact, forming a ring with his thumb and pointer finger to slide around the head where there’s a small bit of precum gathered there. 

Justin whines, low and needy, and JC is unsure of how he doesn’t bust right then, just completely fucking lose it. 

“Did you get yourself off earlier then, hm?” He asks, steadying his hand. 

“_No_,” Justin says with emphasis, quickly. Earnestly. “I didn’t want to get off without you,” he says like a confession, words rushed together quickly. Like he might be a little bit embarrassed by them, but JC’s never heard anything better. 

“That’s so good of you, baby. So good of you to wait for me, to let me make you come,” he says, sliding into it, whatever this is, whatever Justin needs. 

“Need to fucking touch myself already,” Justin groans out in response, and JC can hear him shifting again. Something snaps inside JC then, almost shocked that Justin had really been waiting for the okay from him. 

“Get your pants down a little bit, get your cock out for me,” he says, plain as day, like it doesn’t make him feel a billion different things the second he hears Justin move to comply. “Look at you, listening so well.” 

“For you,” Justin says, and JC wishes he could kiss his forehead in praise.

Tug his hair too, for good measure. 

“I wanted to, though. I wanted to jerk off the second I got back to the room, but I worked up the courage to call first.” JC feels a soft bite behind the words; a subtle dig at him not having the balls to make the first call. 

He wasn’t sure if he should. 

“I’m glad you did,” he admits quietly, his hand just barely stroking himself now, wishing he had something for better friction. “Did you think about how nice it would be if we could find a dark corner off the floor? How good it could be if you’d let me hoist you up against the wall, enough to get us pressed together. You’d be desperate enough to grind against me right there, wouldn’t you? You’d want people to notice, want them to watch out of the corner of their eyes. You’d probably come in your pants.” It isn’t accusatory. JC has a feeling it’s a fact, simple as breathing. 

Justin Timberlake, it seems, is a bit of voyeur. 

It’s a goddamn shame that their profession makes it impossible to make happen. 

“Yeah,” Justin replies, faltering and letting out soft noises now, without shame. “I’d get on my knees for you right there,” he continues, and it sounds like a promise. “I’d wanna try to take all of you, let you fuck my mouth.” 

“You’re so fucking _dirty_,” JC breathes, and now he’s getting his shorts and underwear out of the way, too. He shoves them down to his thighs, cock heavy, and crooks his right knee up. He quickly licks his hand and gets back to work, really stroking himself for the first time. He’s almost nervous to say more, but he thinks Justin likes it, thinks he wants to hear more. 

“I’d come all over your face,” he tells him, and Justin lets out a sound that goes straight to his cock in response. “Dirty you up, claim you right in front of everybody.”

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah, god. Fucking want it, want you,” Justin is rambling now, voice breaking. JC listens so he can match their rhythms, breathing heavy and chest heaving.

“Maybe instead I should fuck you. Get you nice and open for me beforehand, wet with lube. Finger you before we got there, get a plug up in you to keep you open. So when I crowd you up against the wall, you’d let me turn you around and undo my fly. Get your pants down, get all up inside you. Right there in a room full of people, sweaty bodies getting off in a pile on the dance floor. Maybe they’d just think we were dancing, that I was grinding off on you, they’d have no idea I was fucking you.”

“They would,” Justin says, and he almost sounds delirious with it. “They’d know, they’d—“ he lets out a guttural groan then, words breaking off. It’s like he can’t stand the thought of people not knowing. Not knowing he was getting fucked and filled up, right there.

So fucking dirty, he can barely stand it.

“Slow down, slow down. Slow down for me, baby,” JC urges, and he forces himself to do the same. Justin lets out a sound of protest but JC can hear him obey, and he’s never felt more proud. 

“Doing so good for me, Justin. Is everything still good?” Because Jesus, he thinks they might need a safeword. 

Justin hums in agreement. JC’s cock jumps in appreciation. 

“Everybody would know. We’d let them watch, if they wanted. If _you_ wanted,” he adds, emphasis clear. He just wants to give his boy whatever he wants, and if it has to be in some fucked up fantasy from threefuckingthousand miles away, well then. Who is he to argue?

“Want it,” Justin assures him, voice going back to soft. He almost sounds like he’s pouting, and JC wants to kiss it out of him. 

“If I was there I’d just kiss you right now, kiss you and instruct you how to get yourself off. Watch you when you come, and then I’d make you finish me off.” It’s the first time it’s been worded in a way that makes it more real, takes it out of Justin’s fantasy scenario and makes it seem as though JC is itching for a next time. 

“Jesus,” Justin exhales, hard. “How would you tell me to jerk myself off?” 

“Slow right now, just one hand. I’d put some lube on you, cock nice and hard, shiny. You’d look pretty like that,” he says, his own hand moving steadily. 

Justin makes a noise that sounds like he approves, loves the praise. 

“Tell you to give attention to the head, just using your thumb and middle finger. I’d watch you rock your hips into it, fucking into it. It’d be a slick slide, it’d sound so filthy. I’d use my hand to mold yours, wrap it all the way around you and guide you faster.” He speeds up when Justin does, sure to keep their rhythm. 

“You’re driving me absolutely insane right now,” Justin says, and he chuckles low and throaty. He sounds so good it makes JC’s toes curl up. 

“I’m cool as a cucumber,” JC lies, and Justin scoffs. 

“You are so full of shit, all the fucking time,” he shoots back, and he really knows JC all too well. “I can only imagine how good you look right now. Are you on your bed?” 

“Couch,” he replies. “Was falling asleep, was reading all night.” It’s so casual, like they both aren’t jerking off while this conversation is carrying on. It’s the most absurd thing that’s happened to him lately, and Johnny tells him he gets sent a lot of locks of girls’ hair. 

“Old man,” Justin teases. 

They fall quiet for a moment, nothing but short breaths and gasps. 

“She hasn’t seen any of the bruises,” Justin says, and it’s almost a fucking whisper. 

JC’s belly knots up tight, and his breathing stops for a second. 

Nobody’s touched Justin since he has, and it feels so fucking good to hear. 

“I just almost came,” he groans, trying to make light of it. 

“Four days,” Justin says, and it’s such a promise that JC can taste it. 

“Four days until I’m inside of you again.” 

He hears Justin take in a sharp breath, and JC tells him that he’s close. Everything seems to be funneling toward a single, sharp, bright point. His hand goes faster and he hurriedly spits on his hand again, needing the extra slide, and Justin moans in response. 

“Two fingers in your mouth,” JC orders, and Justin doesn’t even pause to make sense of the logistics. JC hears him sucking on his fingers, imagines the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, and pictures him stroking his cock and gagging on his fingers, nearly loses it right then.  


“Next time, I’ll get my fingers in your mouth and my other hand around your cock, while I’m pounding mine into you,” he promises, and he hears Justin get louder, sounds muffled by what’s in his mouth. 

“Fingers out, baby. Wanna hear you come for me,” he says, and Justin instantly groans loudly, panting into the phone. 

“I’m so fucking _close_,” he pleads, like he’s asking permission. 

JC can’t believe he got so lucky. 

“Come for me,” he says, dark and low, demanding. 

It takes a few more seconds but he hears him, hears the broken sounds Justin makes as he falls over the edge. He can only imagine how good he looks, making a mess of himself, completely debauched. Justin’s noises and JC’s imagination get him there and he quickens his hand up, hand focusing on the head of his cock, wrist moving in quick, knowing circles. 

“Wanna hear you,” Justin begs, and JC can’t deny him. 

  
He can’t fucking deny him anything, and he’d never want to. 

“I wish I could see you right now, hand wrapped around your big cock. You don’t even know how good it is, god. How good you feel inside me,” Justin tells him, and JC swears he is a saint for not booking a flight immediately. “Need to get you on webcam so I can watch you, you’d be so much better than some of the shitty porn I see online. Nobody dirty talks as good as you do, and nobody’s got a cock that’s anything like yours. Wouldn’t let any of them fuck me, not even with a condom. Wouldn’t ever let them fuck me bare.” Goddamn it, motherfucker, shit, fuck— Justin is going to be the death of him, and he will probably dance on JC’s grave.

“_Fuck_,” he hisses. He’s coming hard, knows it’s all over his shirt before he even dares look. It’s like a rapid-fire replay of what it was like to fuck him, to taste him, to feel him, running through his mind. He keeps stroking himself, even when it’s so sensitive it almost hurts. Doesn’t stop shuddering until he’s nearly a minute post-orgasm.

Justin starts laughing now, low in his throat, sounding absolutely spent.

“I can’t believe we just did that, fuck.”

“_Fuck_,” JC agrees, still a bit coherent and fuzzy.

He refuses to let the guilt settle in right now, pushes it far from his mind. 

When their laughter dies down and JC is uncomfortable from the jizz drying on his hand and hip, he pulls himself from the couch but keeps the phone pressed to his ear. 

“I’ve gotten some writing done,” he says, bare feet padding across his cool kitchen floor. He reaches for a paper towel and hears Justin moving about too, likely reaching for a washcloth or something from the hotel bathroom. “Need your opinion when you’re back.” 

“Is it about you getting me off from across the country?” Justin teases, and JC laughs at the absurd bullshit Justin is spewing at him. As if he didn’t just give him a mind-blowing orgasm. 

  
The nerve of this asshole, he swears. 

“Write something about how you like to be good for me, asshole,” he shoots back. “Then we’ll talk.” 

Justin fakes a gasp and JC can see his face from there, imagines him being absolutely ridiculous about it while the water switches on for a second, and then he hears him cleaning himself up. 

He probably looks divine. 

“I will,” Justin tells him, and it sounds like a challenge. JC just scoffs, because Justin is fucking ridiculous. 

He tells him as such. 

“You’re trying to tell me this as if you don’t like it,’ Justin tells him. JC thinks he hears him climb back into his hotel bed. 

“Wonder how much your jizzed up washcloth would go for on eBay,” JC wonders aloud, and he hears Justin howl with laugher. 

“Fuck you,” he spits back, but there’s no venom. 

“Maybe you can,” he gives back just as good as he gets, and then it sinks in what he’s just said, and. 

Oh.

“Oh?” Justin echoes his sentiment, optimistically. 

“Yeah, probably.” 

“You’re going to kill me and I can’t handle this anymore, so I’m about to hang up on you now.” 

JC laughs at him, feels his eyes getting heavy as he makes the journey from his kitchen to his bedroom. 

He hasn’t washed his sheets yet, even though it’s gross. He tells Justin to hold on and he tosses his phone onto the bed so that he can pull off his shirt and throw it towards his hamper in the corner. He thinks it gets close. 

“You there?” He asks once he’s picked the phone back up. 

“Here,” Justin says, voice soft and sleepy. He sounds like he does after sex, and it makes JC’s chest feel like it’s expanding far enough away he can encompass Justin somehow, too. 

It makes more sense in his head. 

“Four days,” he says softly, and Justin hums in agreement. 

He doesn’t know if they’ll even follow through. Something inside of him doesn’t believe it and doesn’t want to get his hopes up. 

“Get a webcam,” Justin tells him, and promptly hangs up. 

JC stares at his phone for a minute before he brings his hand up to his face, palm scratching over his day-old stubble. 

He doesn’t know whether to laugh, or cry. 

He settles on bewilderment, and puts his phone on silent. He gently tosses it into the top drawer of his nightstand, refusing to look at it. 

Technology has betrayed him. Let him betray himself, or something. Either way, he blames the phone. 

He wants to sleep but instead he checks the time. He wonders if Best Buy is open at 9:00.    
It’d give him enough time to take a quick nap and then shower. 

At promptly 9:13am, after minimal browsing, he purchases a webcam at Best Buy. 

So this is a thing. 

When he gets home he doesn’t set it up. Instead, he hides it in his desk drawer and barely makes it to bed before he passes out. 

____________

Four days later comes, and it happens like this: 

It’s fucking _busy_. They have studio time in Orlando but only for ten days, and then they’re going to LA to lay down some work in Burbank, before they’re going to join Max and Rami in Sweden for two weeks. They have some events after that, and then three days off, and then they’re heading back to LA to record. 

JC knows this, knows that they’ll have time, but things are fucking busy and he can’t breathe. 

They talk, but it’s about music. 

It starts off as a joke, slipping Justin pieces of paper with ‘lyrics’ on them. 

They’re in the studio with Robin today, comfortable as ever with a song they know back and forth. Joey’s a bit stuffy though, so it’s taking longer than they’d anticipated to get through what they’re hoping to accomplish for the day. He keeps apologizing, but nobody’s blaming him. It feels like they’ve been working non-stop for almost four years, he’s allowed a few sick days. Robin sends them off but JC, Justin and Chris stay behind. Lance and Joey go to get soup, and take orders for everybody else. They write their orders down on slips of paper and take off with security, but JC uses the opportunity to slip Justin a note like they’re in third grade. 

“_I love the things you do for me late at night, you turn me on_,” it reads, written hastily and slipped into his palm. He puts his head back down over his notebook, unhappy with everything he’s written down so far. He’s trying to concentrate, but now he’s thinking about the fucking webcam and how they’ll never need to use it because they’re together an unhealthy amount of time. 

He hears Justin choke on his water and he barely dares to glance up at first, and Chris is patting him on the back. JC catches him sliding the paper back into his pocket, but Chris doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Don’t ruin your voice, we need you today!” Robin chastises, but it sounds more like she’s concerned with him dying than with the day being a waste. She knows what they can do. 

“Calm yourself, you curly bastard. Nobody’s gonna steal your solos,” Chris teases him, and JC snorts out a laugh. 

Justin turns, eyes narrowed, and stares JC down like he’s considered tackling him to the ground. 

Isn’t Justin the one always going on about how he wants to get caught?  
  
Well, then. JC is only giving him what he wants, within reason. Always within reason.

Nothing about this is even remotely rational. 

Chris’ eyes shift back and forth between them, wearily trying to determine what’s going on. 

“Is this some weird thing I don’t want to know about?” Chris asks. 

“Probably,” JC tells him honestly.   
  
That way Chris can claim his innocence to all of their reckless stupidity and not be a liar.

“I’m gonna go piss,” Chris says, and excuses himself. 

He gives JC a look that says approximately fifty-thousand words and makes him feel disgustingly small. 

Chris is too goddamned smart for his own good. 

His stupid brain keeps going back to the webcam, and their phone call, and Justin’s face when he read the stupid note. JC is never one to leave good enough alone, always happy to egg it on. 

He gets to work writing the most ridiculous, ludicrous, porny thing he can manage, planning on giving it to Justin when his masterpiece is finished. 

Except it turns into more than that. 

Because when Chris comes back in after a piss and a phone call to Dani, he peeks over JC’s shoulder and asks, “what in the ever-loving fuck is a digital getdown?”

Robin has had enough and banishes them all to the room next door, connected by a tiny between area with a fridge and a sink. The room off to the side is comfortable and dim, with big couches and it kind of smells like stale weed and patchouli. 

JC wonders who was writing and recording in here before them. 

When they’re in the room, Chris asks again. 

“What?” He replies stupidly, as if Chris didn’t see what he had written. 

‘_A Digital Getdown_’ is clearly written at the top of his notebook page, and he just shrugs and hands it to Chris. 

Justin is deadly silent, head peering down at his own notebook. 

“I lose my mind when you’re speaking, if I’d see you on the screen I’d get to freakin’,” he reads out loud, and Justin coughs loudly and reaches for his water again. 

“Tell me about it, Curly,” Chris mutters, and keeps reading. 

“If you get down, I’ll get down for you. It’s like you’re bouncing me from satellite to satellite, I love the dirty things you do for me so late at night, you turn me on. I wish I were there next to you,” and then Chris goes quiet. 

“This is some fucking futuristic sex shit, isn’t it?” Chris asks him, but he doesn’t seem to hate it. “Jive would never let us put this on an album for thirteen year old girls,” he adds. Mischievous as ever, he almost sounds proud.

JC doesn’t know how to tell him that none of this shit will ever go on any album, ever. It’s not like he can be like, “oh, it’s a joke poem for Justin because we’re kind of sort of having phone sex and real sex, now.” 

Instead he just says, “it’s a rough work in progress, it’s subject to change,” and snatches his notebook back quickly. 

Justin is flushed red, which is a rarity. 

“I like it,” Justin says, voice smooth and relaxed. Buyable as passive, but kind. 

He’s gotten so good at acting. 

“Of course you would, you’re a porn addict. Everybody’s seen your laptop,” Chris tells him, and Justin laughs so loud Robin tells them all to get away from her while she works, an exasperated mother, and to wait for Lance and Joey to return with lunch. 

___________

JC checks his email later that night, sitting at his G3, webcam taunting him from inside the drawer. He ignores it and checks his aol account, somehow not surprised to see something from Justin. 

_Hi, idiot. _

_A deal’s a deal, I hear._

_I can feel your heart anticipating (and your dick too) _

_And my mouth is on your mind _

_Well don't you worry I won't keep you waiting (you’re the one who is always making ME wait) _

_Cause I ain't never seen a big dick so fine_

_Pretty sure you want me, too_

_It's in your eyes, they say you do_

_They're telling me you'll open up for me ;) _

_TOP THAT SHIT, I DARE YOU._

JC wants to die, right then and there. Why is this even his life? He’s getting horrible, awful porn poetry from Justin and it’s past midnight and he should be asleep but instead he wants to reply. His brain feels broken though, and knows it’ll need to wait for another time. 

He just writes back: 

_When I choke you to death_

_I’ll make sure it’s on my dick. _

_Romance._

He’s pretty sure Shakespeare would be proud. 

He gives the drawer containing the webcam the finger, shuts down his computer, and goes to shower before bed. 

Everything about his life is getting infinitely more complicated and he doesn’t know how to stop it. 

Doesn't think he _wants_ to.

Justin Timberlake is an asshole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially just something that is POURING OUT OF ME and I have such an urge to finish this. I wish I had written it 20 years ago, tbh. However, 11 year old me probably wouldn't be so good with the sexytimes talk. God, I would hope not. I was a little pervert but not on the levels of these two morons.


End file.
